


No man's land.

by han_rawr



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Mermaids, Pirates, sea creatures - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/han_rawr/pseuds/han_rawr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirates, treasure and sea creatures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry’s accustomed to folk law of sea creatures, monsters with tentacles and suckers which take the skin clean off your bones. When he’d first set sail with a captain whose lucrative business involved bloodshed, canon fire and rare visits to dry land, Harry was fifteen. All he possessed were the tales his grandfather had recited countless times. A sword was strapped to his hip, but it was some while before he got a taste to use it. Piracy is a crime punishable by death. But Harry doesn’t intend on getting caught. 

It’s the stories of creatures half human, half scaled that Harry can recall in greater detail. Shivers ripple through his body as he recounts the brutal cruelty these beings are capable of; known to prettily coax ships to the rocks. Some say they physically transform for each victim, your own personal siren, beautiful and nigh uncatchable in water. 

But the tales are not of much concern at the present minute as the ship is hosting a rather bloody battle between the crew and those that have swung aboard uninvited. 

“Harry!”

The warning almost comes too late, Harry turns, carving his sword into the man’s waist. A fatal red seeps into the clothing around the deep wound, mouth wide and breath punched. The man falls back, his dead weight thumping the hard deck. 

There’s not much time to relax before another opponent chooses Harry to pick a fight with. Harry’s aim is weak when holding a pistol, and he desperately hopes the guy aiming at him is just as poor. The bullet clips Harry’s arm, a flesh wound that doesn’t cause much discomfort. And that’s particularly useful because his attack is a surprise to the man he charges at. He could take an arm or a leg, but a blade through the left of his chest is something Harry finds to be kinder when ending a person’s life. Not that he’s ever had it happen to himself. 

Harry’s sword is slicked with crimson as he withdraws it from the torso. Sweat trickles his neck and back, discovering flames that lick up the stairs to the raised deck which holds the wheel. One of the vast sails has just caught alight and despite the endless water surrounding them, it will be difficult to put it out. Steering has been abandoned in favour of fighting off the enemy and Harry’s judgement tells him the ship is careering towards a reef just visible above the ocean’s surface. 

He’s forced to scale the splintered wood to the side of stairs in order to reach the wheel, but even then he’s burnt from the heat. Harry’s too late. The belly of the ship crunches, shredded by the rocks and he’s fruitless in stopping the consequences. Body catapulted forward, hip slamming into the outer edge of the vessel and thrown over the side. 

***

His vision is blurred when he cracks his eyes open. It’s uncomfortable. Harry’s used to sleeping in rough conditions on the ship, but this doesn’t compare. Attempting to roll to the left jabs more sharp rock through his thin shirt. Wincing, Harry moves to sit up instead, but soon wishes he didn’t. Desperate eyes scan the surrounding water. There’s nothing but a few floating planks and barrels. If anything was burning, the flames have been extinguished and it’s oddly still. The ship has gone and Harry’s heart lurches at the possible whereabouts of his home. 

The next sight his eyes are troubled by has him grabbing for the sword on his bruised hip but his hand clutches at thin air. Instead, a small dagger is drawn and thrust out defensively in front of him. The creature looks frightened, but the stories Harry has heard of mermaids has his fingers tighten around the handle of the blade. Her head bobs up again and Harry draws his legs further into him. He’s defenceless if she decides to drag him into the water. 

He’s breathing heavily now, eyes never staying from the source of his fear. She curiously circles the rock he’s made residence on, coming a little too close for Harry’s comfort. It’s a pathetic attempt, but he still wrestles off his remaining boot and launches it at her. The pulsing waves make good cover as she ducks. She seems more curious about the wriggling of his toes rather than his effort to keep her away. 

The movement triggers a sharp pain to the right of his forehead. The dagger has dropped from his hand, teetering on the edge of the stone and before Harry can reach it, the blade falls to the dense water and sinks. He clutches at his right temple. As he withdraws his palm, blood mixes with water and drips down his wrist. 

“I’m sorry about that, you’re heavy and the sea was rough.”

The creature is much closer now, clinging to the rock on his left side and it’s difficult to mistake the regret in her dark eyes. Her hair is tinted a pale blue, features prettier than Harry’s ever seen. 

“I pulled you on to the rock,” she continues as Harry stares. “Because you can’t swim, can you? That’s why you sail on those big wooden arcs.”

“Ships.”

It’s the first word he’s spoken to her, and it seems apt for the situation he’s in.

“Ships,” she repeats, locking the information away. 

He doesn’t correct her, Harry’s a strong swimmer, but it just doesn’t seem important now. Whilst they’re on the subject, Harry recons it’s a good idea to ask. 

“Where is my ship?”

“Sunk.”

“And the men?”

“Sunk with it.”

She doesn’t hold an ounce of remorse, just inquisitively tilts her head. Her lack of sympathy reminds Harry that the creature isn’t human, she might as well be from a far off land.

“Why did you put me here?”

It’s accusing. He should have died with his friends, not alone on a fucking rock. Harry knows they’re in the middle of the ocean, he’d seen the maps a couple of days prior. They were sailing into open water. 

“Because I found you.”

“There were plenty of men you could have captured,” Harry bites back.

He’s not frightened of her anymore; he’s just incredibly pissed off. Stupid fish. Why couldn’t she have just left him to die?

“But I didn’t want them. I wanted to keep you,” she emphasises.

“Why?” he shakes his head. 

“Because you’re very beautiful.”

Her answer flushes his cheeks with colour. He had expected a reply to run more along the lines of, “because I think you’ll scream the most when I rip you limb from limb”, or perhaps, “you’ll taste the nicest when I wrap you in seaweed and feast on your flesh”. She smiles with his embarrassment, an emotion she’s probably unaware she has caused him to feel. No-one has ever called him beautiful before. 

“Are you a pirate?”

So apparently we’ve moved on, Harry thinks. He shifts a little in her direction, the mermaid resting her chin upon her forearms propped up on Harry’s small, probable death, stone island. 

“My ship’s gone, the crew…I’m just a man on a fucking rock now,” Harry speaks in defeat. 

He lays back upon the jagged stone, heavily sighing and staring up at the clouds floating by. 

“A boy.”

Harry’s eyes harshly target her. Her eyebrows are raised in question to his challenging frown. 

“I’m nineteen,” he states defensively. 

“Is that old enough to be a man?”

He doesn’t miss the sharp gleam of her teeth. She could probably rip him to shreds, but he doesn’t think that will happen, not now that she’s called him beautiful. 

“I think I’ve had enough life experience to merit me a man.”

“Oh,” she replies.

“How old are you?”

“I’m not really sure,” she retorts with a shrug.

It’s odd to see such a human gesture on something that Harry knows is swimming around with a tail. It’s as though she can read his mind, flicking her lower half through the opaque water before coming to rest his other side. He sits up. 

“Why do you slay your own kind?”

The fighting. She’s talking about what happened between the two vessels. Harry’s memory is fuzzy and he accounts it to the knock his head received. The enemy ship must have gotten away unscathed, unless it’s wrecked like his own and lying beneath him. She was watching then. 

“We had to protect the cargo”, he eventually replies. 

“The shiny coins and pretty rocks?”

The mermaid smiles in appreciation and Harry’s certain she’s innocent to the worth of the stolen treasures. They wouldn’t be much good to a being that spends her life solely in ocean. 

“You’ve seen them?”

“Yes, I went down to have a look while you were sleeping. Your ship has holes in it, I don’t think it will float anymore.”

“No,” Harry sadly shakes his head. 

“Where have you been on your ship?” she asks, genuinely taking an interest in the stranded boy.

“Everywhere.”

She laughs and the sound makes Harry want to move closer. His grandfather’s words still ring in his head, the most malicious predator wears beauty as a mask, beware of the scaled splendour that inhabits the ocean, Harry. 

“You can’t have been everywhere.”

He’s going to die anyway, why not let it be at the hands of his own personal siren. 

“Even if I haven’t, there are thousands of ships; man has conquered the ocean,” Harry replies with assurance.

Her smile drops, fingers slipping from the side of Harry’s rock and she creates space between them. The mermaid floats as he shuffles down, feet dipping into the water. When she makes no move towards him, Harry lets his legs hang over the side. The water’s cool. 

“You’re naïve, pirate,” she speaks in such a harsh tone, Harry finds it difficult to accept it came from something so lovely. 

“My grandfather slayed a monster of the sea, forty foot long,” he challenges.

Harry thinks she ought to be impressed, his grandfather was a legend. But his pride sinks as she coldly stalks him. The once pretty shimmer of her tail has taken a darker tone. Harry braces his hands behind him, leaning back slightly and away from the creature. 

“I’ve seen bigger,” she replies with a small smile. 

If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say her words were laced with suggestive air. It’s a manner he’s only ever heard in the bedrooms of women he visits when making an occasional port. She’s either unaware of her affect or playing with him on purpose. 

“You and your ships have barely explored the surface,” she states. “There’s so much more.”

She’s kindly smiling now, friendly demeanour in place of whatever was experienced a short time before. 

“More?” Harry speaks without thinking, leaning closer to share the secret. 

“I could show you.”

Harry shakes his head with a shy smile, looking down and observing the way his legs swing back and forth in the water. He should feel cold, but he doesn’t. Harry doesn’t have time to go exploring with her, his life on the rock must come to an end soon; no drinking water, no food, no nearby shore. 

“Will you sing to me then?” she asks quietly. “I heard you before the fighting. You have such a pretty voice, will you sing to me, pirate?”

Harry indulges the lovely monster and recites an old song his sister used to sing to him. She’s so enthralled, requesting that he repeat the tune and then sing a new one. By the time he’s finished, Harry’s voice is tortured with thirst. The mermaid is laid partially on the rock, tail dipping in and out of the water as she praises him for such a wonderful performance. 

“Your eyes look like the deep ocean,” she keenly observes, close enough to Harry to pick out the darker flecks of green. “It’s one of my favourite places.”

He’s tired now, hungry and possibly a little sunburnt. With his eyes closed, Harry is free to imagine himself anywhere he pleases. The sun is still beating a warm glow in what he believes to be late afternoon. 

“Can I keep you?” he’s positive she asks in a whisper. 

And Harry can’t seem to envision himself anywhere but here, on a rock in the ocean, with a sea creature for company. A beautiful one. Harry’s glad that they haven’t exchanged names, because hearing her say his might in fact be a massive hindrance in his plan of not getting attached and wanting to stay. Learning hers would swell his heart. 

She’s lovingly staring at him when he opens his eyes. He’s had time to think and he’s made his decision. 

“I’d like to see. Will you take me there?”

Harry is slipping down the rock before she even confirms her answer. Her eyes are bright with joy, excited that the boy would accept her offer. She’s never been this close to a pirate, or a human for that matter; and now her heart flutters because she gets to hold him again. He’s not asleep this time.

Once he’s fully submerged, her arms wrap Harry’s torso, pressing herself into him. He’s not expecting her to be so gentle, conscious of fragility of his body as she cradles him away from the possible danger of the rock. 

“You can’t swim, I’ll hold you.”

Her smile almost makes Harry want to confess he can’t be hers. There’s no hope for him, Harry understands that. And maybe this won’t be such an awful conclusion. He’d imagined his life to come to an end at the tip of a blade, sea air spaying his face; not in arms of a creature who inhabits the ocean he sails. Harry almost wishes his grandfather could be here to witness the “monster” he’d painted into his grandson’s young mind. To see that she’s not a ruthless predator, not a vicious, inhuman monster. She saved his life.

“Are you ready?”

And now she’s unwittingly going to take it from him. 

Harry’s lips fall to hers. It’s a surprise for the fish-tailed creature, because it’s a soft pink. Warm. Their noses brush as the angle transforms and the boy presses his mouth to the corner of hers. The laugh that escapes is musical and she squeezes his uninjured hip.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a kiss,” Harry breathlessly explains.

Her eyes dart over his face, absorbing the boy’s features and playfully tugging at the end of the black scarf tied around his head. 

“What’s it for?”

The mermaid smiles, questioning him about a subject that’s he’s never been asked to analyse before. 

“It doesn’t – it doesn’t really have a purpose.”

He’s not going to delve into logistics, because all Harry can think to explain a kiss like that is love. The situation doesn’t need to last longer. He’s ready to go with her now. 

“Then why do you do it?”

“It feels nice,” Harry’s voice descends in volume, embarrassed to be called out. 

He looks to the length of hair falling over her shoulder. The colour is something Harry’s never imagined would suit anyone, but it does her, complimenting the darker blue of her eyes and accentuating the strange gashes in her neck. 

“Put your mouth to mine again.”

He does as told, closing his eyes and melting into the last kiss he’ll ever have. She follows the only lead she has and shuts her eyes. It seems strange to her, to blind yourself when commencing in an intimate act. Surely you’d want to see the other person. Her mind flutters away with her as the boy performs magic with just his mouth, tingling through her insides enough to make her feel like jelly. And she comes to realise that ‘kissing’ is more to do with how you feel, rather than what you see. 

Harry startles as she pulls away, hiding her face and giggling. The shimmering tail floats back and forth under the water beneath them, her hands still firmly holding his waist.

“What’s wrong?”

The mermaid shakes her head, water droplets trickling down her neck and over her chest.

“Your tongue touched mine,” she speaks with a flush. 

It’s enormously endearing and Harry finds himself wishing that he’d met someone like her on land. She would have convinced him not to leave, not to climb aboard the ship proudly displaying black flags. He would have a respectable job and thrive on the knowledge that she’d be home waiting for his return. He could have loved someone like her.

“I’m ready.”

She beams a smile at him before encouraging his arms around her. His fingers skim hardened scales on the small of her back, tracing the gradual boundary between ocean dwelling and human girl. 

“Hold on to me,” is the last words spoken between them before they submerge. 

The salt water stings Harry’s eyes. His instincts tell him to fight the hold and break the surface, but he overcomes reflex, lets her cling to him as they dive further down. She’s more powerful than he’d expected and they descend quickly. The pressure is starting to burn, pressing down on his chest as he holds the last of his breath. Three more beats of her tail and Harry can’t put off the inevitable any longer. Water painfully invades his lungs, body convulsing with the onslaught before succumbing to the ocean and the pretty creature who cradles him. 

He knew he would drown, but she didn’t. 

They come to a slow halt to admire the surroundings. 

“Look,” she smiles.

These waters are her favourite, pretty fish and deep water coral. It’s a wash of colours that most don’t get to see, perhaps that’s what makes it so special. 

The boy’s head rests in the crook of her neck. She holds him away from her slightly so she can see his face, see the awe she hopes his features will express. But his face is blank, eyes shuttered closed, hands no longer seeking her for guidance. 

She shakes him, as much as the dense water allows. The hair not trapped beneath the bandana floats around him like a halo.

“Why won’t you open your eyes?” her voice trembles with a cry.

He can’t swim. Her hands settle a small distance away from his waist in hopes that he’ll reach out and clutch her to him again. But he doesn’t. The boy begins to drift and she snaps from her despair, taking handfuls of his shirt and dragging him into her arms. 

“Sing to me,” she desperately whispers into his ear. “Please.”

She’s seen men like this before, but she’d accounted their unresponsiveness to the wounds to neck or chests. They were already dead before they hit the water, thrown over the side of ships that flaunted black sails. Her boy has no such injuries. She checks, hands smoothing over his chest under the ripped shirt. There’s no wounds, no blood. Delicate fingers inspect his shoulders and her frantic searching dies when she reaches his neck. A distraught cry frightens the unsuspecting fish, seeking cover in the nearby coral. The three gashes she has either side of her throat are absent on his.

The boy couldn’t breathe. 

“No.”

***

The mermaid receives odd looks from her sisters. But she pays no mind. The boy is hers. She’ll look after him. 

Others of her kind have gathered around the wrecked ship settled on the ocean floor. It’s not too far from the surface, light still penetrating from above. With practiced skill, she carefully navigates the vessel’s interior, an area she’s previously explored after rescuing the boy she now protectively embraces. The cargo he’d talked about is spilled over the chewed up wooden floor. 

There’s not much of a current, especially as they’re sheltered within the ship’s hull. She allows his body to float down upon a bed of shiny coins and pretty rocks; a fitting resting place for a beautiful boy. 

She stays with him until the waters are cold and looming with the promise of nightfall. Normally she’d spend this time above the surface, sitting on the boy’s vacant rock to watch the sun go down. It is possible to cry underwater, and the mermaid’s sorrowful tears wash with the ocean.

Her lips press to his but she doesn’t linger because he’s cold. The once pretty pink is now a stony blue as she runs the tip of her index over the curves of his mouth.

“Forgive me,” she pleads. 

One last look and she’s gone. 

“A mermaid found a swimming lad  
picked him for her own,   
pressed her body to his body,   
laughed; and plunging down   
forgot in cruel happiness   
that even lovers drown.” 

She should have stayed with him though, as now the nameless boy’s eyes are wide open, gashes on his neck and he’s breathing the oxygen in the water…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it!

Rilla has distanced herself from others of her kind, choosing instead to skim the coral alone and wait for day to break the gloomy depths she dives to. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, not with images of the lifeless boy clouding her mind like squid ink. It’s the ice of his lips she can’t seem to shake and Rilla wishes more than anything for the sun to rise so she can melt the cold that lingers within her. 

She weakly smiles as small fish dance around her, somehow very aware of the regretful culpability she’s riddled with. Even arriving at one of her favourite spots does little to lift her grief, watching as shelled creatures scuttle along the sand bed. It’s as though the boy drained life from her, drawing out the enjoyment of living to taint what little is left with hopeless existence. Rilla feels as though her stomach is filled with hundreds of tiny pebbles, the kind she found when exploring too close to shore. It’s a sinking emotion, and she worries what will happen when it finally hits the sandy bottom. 

“Rilla!”

She’s shaken from dangerous thoughts, sweeping around to find Ula motoring towards her; a motion that creates considerable wash in her wake. Her friend almost collides with her but quickly takes hold of Rilla’s arms to steady herself. There’s something in Ula’s jerky actions that signals Rilla to stay alert. The mermaid fails to recall another situation in which Ula’s eyes have been so fearful. 

“Everyone’s leaving. There’s something on the reef, Rilla. We need to go.”

Pale green hair drifts in the dense water like the sea grass, shifting with the current. Her skin is brown, tail a deep red. 

“What is it?” Rilla urgently asks.

Sharks don’t normally bother the group and even if they did, there’s not much that would go fin to fin with a mermaid. Whatever it is, it’s got the most fearless species in the ocean cowering away. But Rilla still feels courageous, little would break her spirit. It’s her duty to protect those more vulnerable than herself and she intends to carry out that responsibility. 

“We don’t know,” Ula shakes her head, clutching at Rilla’s hand.

Ula can see it, can pinpoint the exact moment Rilla’s urgency to escape with her friend submerges to somewhere foreign. The maid shouldn’t care, there’s something flawed in her judgement, always has been. Ever since they were young, it would be Rilla that spoke of land and the desire to explore it, to see “the earth flowers”. She wanted to watch things fly, carve a path in the sky. The excitement of flight though water has lost the wonder Rilla once held it with. Ula knew part of her friend had been lost when the boy had fallen to the water. She had refused to help Rilla pull the human to the surface, objected to hoisting the lifeless being to the rock and declined the invitation to wait with Rilla for the boy to wake. Dirty pirate. 

“I have to check on him,” Rilla abruptly speaks. 

“No, Rilla. We need to go.”

“I have to see,” she begins before taking off with a powerful flick of her tail. “I have to see that he’s ok.”

Ula doesn’t have the heart to tell her younger friend that the boy’s not in any danger because he’s no longer alive. It doesn’t matter if the creature swimming along the reef encounters the boy, he’s dead. It will make no difference. But apparently despite the complications, Rilla is still willing to risk her life for the pirate again. All Ula can do is try to keep up. She’s only ever swam this fast when being chased, and for all they know the creature on the reef could be following. That thought puts an extra kick into Ula’s tail. 

***

The ship still lies on the ocean bed, lifeless apart from the occasional flutter of fish from cannon holes. They’ve been joined by Till, another much younger maid who is yet to develop vibrant colour in her tail. Despite their warnings and encouragement to follow the rest of the evacuating group, Till had insisted on joining their “adventure”. She doesn’t want to miss out on the excitement. 

Rilla leads the way through the wreck, pointing out fragile, damaged areas that should be avoided. The intricacies of the ship are well remembered and soon all three of them arrive in the room Rilla had laid the boy to rest. It’s empty. The chest is still broken, the coins strewn across the floor. But apart from that it’s completely void of human existence. Nothing has been disturbed as far as Rilla can tell. 

“Where is he?” she quietly asks, the fan of her tail skimming the wooden walls as she swirls around the small room. “The boy? Where is he?”

Till has huddled closer to Ula, tucking herself under the older maid’s arm. She doesn’t understand why Rilla is so upset. It was just a boy, a human. Till had seen Rilla with him the day prior, watched from below as the pirate had slipped down from the rock and joined her friend in the water. He had legs, proper human legs with feet and toes. Till had wanted to touch him, see if his skin felt as vile as she’d been told, if his face was as monstrous as the stories had recited. _They kill for sport, Till. The humans would spear every last maid in the water if they had their way. No mercy would be given to a baby like you. Stay away from the wooden arcs._ And that’s what Till had done up until yesterday. She hadn’t thought pirates deserved to be cuddled until she saw him in Rilla’s arms. He was defenceless, put his entire trust into a creature that could tear him apart. And now Till can see the utter despair Rilla is in, how deeply she cares for the human who fell to the water. Rilla is no fool, Till thinks she had to have seen heaven in the boy, or she wouldn’t have wanted to share her world with him. Till begins to think that maybe this pirate didn’t want to hurt them, maybe he was worthy. 

“I told you not to come here! What have you done with him?”

Till doesn’t want to interrupt, is a little fearful of the way Rilla’s tail has darkened. She wants to tell the two maids that she’s frightened of the shadow that’s just passed by one of the cannon holes in the side of the wreck. Ula is shouting now, stating rather furiously that she’s not touched the boy, hasn’t been anywhere near the broken arc. Till’s arms band Ula’s waist, burying her face into her side to stop the darkness from creeping in. 

“The boy is dead! There is no point in putting yourself at risk for something you can’t save. You can’t protect him.”

Till is pried away from her hiding place, thrust out between Ula and Rilla. She squirms a little in Ula’s firm hold, but soon becomes unnaturally pliant upon witnessing the unfamiliar silhouette glide past another gaping wound in the wooden arc. It’s circling the wreck. 

“But you can protect her, keep her safe from whatever is on the reef. She’s important, he’s not.”

Rilla bows her head, tail gradually washing back to the pretty green it once was. Of course. It’s Till who really matters, she’s of Rilla’s kind. She’s too young to defend herself, wouldn’t last a second in the clutches of whatever stalks the reef. The fear of losing the fledgling maid has Rilla reach out, taking Till into her arms and holding her. But even with the warm press, her heart still weighs heavy. 

The elders within the pod had spoken of humans as callous, malicious beings that had a taste for mermaid blood. Scars were presented as a show-and-tell of perilous battles fought against those that inhabited land. A young Rilla had taken these tales to her nightmares, horror-stricken by men with blades for hands and an unquenchable thirst for demise. It wasn’t until she’d witnessed the boy aboard the ship sing that Rilla questioned what she had been told. He had the voice of a siren, decidedly drier and absent of scales but just as enticing. And once Rilla had him in her arms, held the buoyant weight of him, cradled his beauty, she discovered the falsity of the elders’ claims. 

Now, it’s a tremendous struggle for Rilla to force these feelings to the fringes of her expanded knowledge. There’s a digging in her gut; horrid possibilities of what may have happened to her rescued boy. But she can’t worry about that now, they need to make tracks. If they hurry, they can join the pod over by the coral arch and continue together.

It’s as they evacuate the ship that Rilla can feel it, feel the warm smoulder of a longing stare. Till is forced behind her, blocking the little maid from view. Rilla looks to Ula. She’s oddly still and it’s as if the daily buzz of abundant life under the surface has been extinguished. The vibrant soul of the ocean has been drained. Rilla drags back parts of her that seem to have floated off with the wildlife - composure, bravery, strength. The last push she needs is Till slipping a trembling hand into hers before Rilla looks up to the surface, and prepares to meet the gaze of the predator upon the reef. 

“Oh, Goddess,” she prays. 

Arms, legs, fingers, toes, human. Her human is adrift in the clear blue above. Morning has broken, shooting shards of light though the water to create forever moving veins upon the sand beneath. Rilla’s heart is beating faster than a dolphin’s tail and she’s fighting to keep it contained within her. She looks back to her friends and in her utter elation Rilla doesn’t recognise their absence of excitement. It’s her boy, her only connection to land that is suspended in the depths of her home. The maid is convinced he’s a miracle. And then opens his eyes. 

Rilla is met by iridescent irises, a wash of bright green and blue. They shine like tropical fish scales and Rilla has never seen anything more beautiful. But they’re not human and the longer she examines the boy the more she comes to realise that something’s not right. 

He’s seen her, and by the way his fists are flexing and contracting, he can’t quite make up his mind on how to greet her. His hair floats in gentle waves, taken back with the black scarf that’s not really of any help at all. Not in the water anyway. Rilla thinks maybe a few starfish would sort out the hair situation, but in all honesty she rather likes it lose. The skin she’d touched while he was asleep is no longer kissed by the sun, it’s pale, which only proves to make prominent the eyes Rilla can’t seem to explain. Maybe he’s ill. She should help him. 

Rilla is unaware of the attraction coaxing her closer until her name is spoken in a desperate cry. Till is using everything she has to keep a hold on Rilla’s hand to stop her swimming to the boy. The small maid suddenly retreats back to Ula in a flurry of water bubbles and tears. And Rilla realises it’s because the pirate is now intently watching after the baby of the group. 

“Don’t,” Ula pleads.

Rilla doesn’t understand her friend’s reluctance, wants to prove her wrong. The maid disobeys, drifting towards the surface, towards the boy she saved. For the first time during the encounter he seems to lose his nerve, not completely comfortable by the way Rilla is reaching to him. Her hand rests outstretched between them as an act of good faith. She’s not going to hurt him. Once Rilla is certain she hasn’t spooked him, she carefully takes hold of his arm. The skin isn’t quite as smooth as Rilla had initially thought. It’s as if the boy’s body has rejected the ocean’s gift; fought it, not completely surrendering his humanity. Rilla carefully presses her thumb to one of the sporadic scale scars. The outline shimmers in pearlescent shades. 

“What did you do to me?” he quietly asks, testing his voice in the foreign environment.

They float together as Rilla performs a dot-to-dot of those strange glittering wounds. Her tracing leads to his hand. There’s webbing between his fingers, just like hers, and Rilla’s oddly saddened. He was perfect before she left him, and now…

His hand is yanked away through the dense water and Rilla scoots back in fear that she’s hurt him.

“What did you do to me?!” he roars. 

There’s a commotion behind her, Till holding Ula at bay in a futile attempt at calming the escalating situation. Rilla’s in a panic, caught in no man’s land between two parties that are drowning in perilous misunderstanding. 

“Kill it!” Ula screams. 

Rilla doesn’t question her actions until she’s facing her friends. Any warmth she’s gained in exerting energy is drained with the quiet. She discovers her arms spread like wings, blocking any challenge to lay a finger on the boy. She’ll look after him, protect him, keep him safe.

“No,” she coldly replies to the order. 

Rilla is acutely aware of each flushing gill, every slow sweeping tail but most of all the devastating magnitude of her decision. The carnage she’s caused is displayed on her friend’s horror-stricken face. 

“What have you done?” Ula asks.

The boy remains behind Rilla, so close she can feel the fast flurry of water his gills expel. 

“I-“

“You’ve created a monster,” Ula spits. “He’s not ocean dwelling and yet he breathes our water.”

“A monster?” Rilla repeats in disbelief. 

“Look at his neck, his eyes. He has no tail. It’s an abomination.” 

Ula observes in disgust as Rilla turns, accidently crowding in on the boy. She feels as though her heart could shatter because he looks embarrassed, ashamed of the vile things her friend has shouted. 

“Will you go and wait on the rock? I’ll follow after you, I won’t be long.”

It’s an offer he seems to accept until Ula is bellowing again, but this time it’s Till who disobeys. The fledgling has wriggled free, swimming hesitantly over to the monster and the maid. The boy curiously follows her flighty movements until she’s tucked in close behind Rilla. He’s oozing remorse as Rilla witnesses him observe the young maid play a timid game of peekaboo. She almost catches a rare smile as Till peeps at him over her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he speaks with a body full of water. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Till shifts, plastering herself to Rilla’s back and banding her arms around the mermaid’s waist. The boy softly smiles and Rilla can feel the confidence building in the youngster. Her arms slip away, big doe eyes on the boy. 

“It’s ok,” Rilla encourages.

He’s softer this time, Rilla can tell by how fondly he’s gazing at Till as she takes his hand. Her fingers look tiny compared to his, little wriggling sea snakes that playfully pry open his palm. The small maid presses an object into his hand, something that Rilla doesn’t have the time to identify before he’s tightly clutching it. 

“Thank you.”

Rilla can almost feel the warmth radiating though the water from Till’s cheeks. She’s taken on an unfamiliar but endearing shyness that has her scamper back to Ula. The older maid is furious. If looks could kill, Rilla would be floating belly up on the surface. Her own demise is lacking in importance at the present moment though, she needs to get him to safety. 

“Pirate?”

Rilla is pleasantly surprised with boy’s athleticism, able to keep pace the maid to break the ocean’s top. She guides him to the rock they’ve both become very familiar with. 

Harry feels pretty silly. He’s been breathing air his whole life, but now it feels foreign, like a language he’s yet to master. His mother tongue is now decidedly more salty. Not to say he can’t conquer two dialects, but it’s a little embarrassing to have an ocean creature coach him in his above-water breathing technique.

“Slow and deep,” she encourages lightly with a hand on Harry’s thigh. “It may feel a little odd, but it’s ok.”

His mermaid remains clinging to the rock, and him, until Harry has the whole respiration thing under control. 

“I’m all right now.”

She gives him a small nod before ducking under a calm wave and flashing an impressive tail fan. Harry draws his knees up into himself. He’s supposed to be dead. He should have drowned but apparently the ocean gods had decided to deal him a completely new set of cards. Harry feels as though his insides have been thoroughly flushed. The way his body processes information is different, his organs have adapted, developed for water born life.

Harry opens his palm to reveal the small shell given to him by the miniature mermaid. He’s not into scaring little kids, even if this one had a tail. Harry’s stomach had sunk when she’d hidden from him, terrified behind the other unfamiliar creature. Even if his opinion on these fishtailed beings was of fear and repulsion, Harry reminds himself that he’s now the monster in their waters.

The thin rope thread attached to the shell wraps easily around his wrist. He knots it off with his teeth, pulling it tight before admiring the pearlescent shimmer that matches the crescent shaped scars upon his skin. 

***

The creature appears minutes later, hauling herself up onto Harry’s rock and wriggling towards him. He’d been prodding at the gashes in his neck prior to her arrival, leaning over the side of the small island in an attempt at viewing his reflection in the choppy water. It was no use.

She’s frowning at him, an expression which he thinks is entirely unjustified seeing as she was the one who graced him with this monstrous aesthetic. 

“You shouldn’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” she warns him before prying his hand away. 

“Yeah, and what about these?”

Harry peels away the sopping material of his shirt to reveal his right side to the creature. There’s further evidence of Harry’s inhumanity in the form of larger slashes cut into the flesh above his hips. A cold hand is placed on his lower back, angling him towards her as she inspects the new features. The tip of a webbed finger gently prods at the large gills, something which Harry distinctly remembers he was scolded for moments before. He’s uncomfortable with her close inspection. 

“I don’t have those,” she tells him in a spaced out voice. 

“Oh, lucky you,” Harry bites back. “I’m a freak then, am I? Even in your weird part of the world where having a fucking tail is considered normal.”

Her hands are batted away before he childishly shuffles over to the far side. 

“You’re not a freak,” she dismisses rather curtly. 

“Your friend called me an abomination.”

They’re arguing. Having a disagreement on a rock in the middle of the ocean is definitely something new to Harry; especially as he can hear his partner venomously hiss under her breath. 

“She was frightened.”

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Harry demands through the clenching of his jaw. 

“I know, I told her that you wouldn’t.”

Harry thinks he should probably count himself lucky, at least one person hasn’t fallen for the beastly exterior he’s now parading around. Or maybe two people, if the tally includes the small mermaid. He thoughtlessly fiddles with his new shell. 

“You’ve been given a gift,” she presses.

Harry’s head snaps so fast it’s a miracle he hasn’t jarred his neck.

“It’s not a gift,” he almost spits. “It’s a curse.”

His head is shaking as she squirms closer to him. She winces, dragging her tail across the rugged surface. The movement forces her chest out, using her arms to pull herself forward. Harry’s tried to be a gentleman about it up until now, but there’s no denying his curiosity as he studies her chest. She has no breasts, not any like Harry has ever seen anyway. The mermaid has the curvaceous lines of womanly figure but the form is alien to the pirate. She’s smooth, streamline and covered in minute scales Harry had been too overwhelmed to notice before now. 

“Pirate?”

He awkwardly clears his throat, removing his eyes from intrusive wandering. 

“Whatever your wet gods have bestowed on me, you can tell them I don’t want it,” Harry splutters. “They can stick it up their a–“

“Goddesses,” she interrupts. 

“What?”

“The ocean is a woman, pirate.”

A woman? That makes sense. In Harry’s experience both woman and ocean can be wildly unpredictable, dangerously alluring, wonderfully deep and disappointingly shallow. And Harry’s recently found out that both have the ability to drown him, literally and figuratively. 

“She’s deemed you worthy and given you new life. Do not squander it.”

A heavy sigh heaves at Harry’s body; a new life seems like an awful lot of responsibility, particularly as this one would have him bound to water. He wants to ask if there are any specific rules tied to this fresh start, mainly because Harry’s previous life taught him that everything comes at a price. But that’s not the question that forms on his lips as he looks to the scaled beauty. 

“Are you a goddess?”

It’s a genuine enquiry, surely no being on this earth would possess the power to give life where it was stolen. Tales narrated by Harry’s grandfather had never given mention to the resurrecting potency of a mermaid’s kiss. And even as Harry looks to the feminine features of his new acquaintance, she appears blushingly befuddled by his presumption. 

“Rilla,” she coyly speaks. 

“What’s a Rilla?”

“Me, I’m – my name’s Rilla.”

A tsunami swell hurtles inside Harry’s chest, continuing to pound as he rolls her name off his tongue. Rilla. It suits her, strong but strangely elegant. 

“Do you have a name, pirate?”

“Harry.”

She smiles, repeating his name like he did hers. 

_“Can I keep you, Harry?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> The poem embedded at the end is by W.B. Yeats.


End file.
